Boo Are You?
by Kristen999
Summary: Nick, Warrick, and Uncle Brass are dragged out to a haunted house by our two favorite Lab rats. Oh. And it was a dark and stormy night, too. Happy Halloween! complete
1. Chapter 1

Title: "Boo Are You?" (1/6)  
Authors: Kristen999 and everybetty (Beth)  
Category: Humor/Supernatural/Drama  
Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and their fine writers. Please don't sue it's just for fun.

Summary: Nick, Warrick, and Uncle Brass are dragged out to a haunted house by our two favorite Lab rats. Oh. And it was a dark and stormy night, too. Happy Halloween!

Notes : Another co-authored piece by everybetty (Beth) and Kristen999.

Updates: We'll post a chapter each day except Tuesday and Friday where TMB will go up.

* * *

"Can you believe it really is a dark and stormy night??"

"What I can't believe is that a building like this really exists in Las Vegas."

"Yeah, all it's missin' are some gargoyles and a hunchback lurchin' around cryin' yesss, master."

"Hey! Is that organ music I hear?"

"Cut it out, Archie. I can't believe you talked me inta this. I need to have my head examined."

"Ah, c'mon, Bobby. I couldn't get anyone from GHPSV to come."

"If you couldn't get one of your geek friends from the _Ghost Hunting Paranormal Society of Vegas _to come out here, what does that tell ya?"

"It tells me they're all a bunch of chickens. C'mon, we deal with scarier shit on a nightly basis than some creaky doors and rattling chains. IF we even find them in there. This was some dude's house, not Castle Frankenstein."

"What the hell kinda freak would build somethin' like this," Bobby drawled, gazing up at the mansion that loomed before them. "Looks like somethin straight outa a Stephen King novel."

"More like Lovecraft," Archie muttered.

"And why didn't Greg wanna go again?"

"Cuz he has a date, unlike us," Archie said with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah," Bobby conceded. "So, let's get this over with. Still can't believe I'm wastin' my one night off to ghost bust with you. Frickin' Egon Spangler wannabe." He thumbed on his Coleman lantern, the glow lighting up the area.

A flash of lightning lit up the sky overhead. A few icy cold drops fell, one making its way down the back of Archie's shirt. He shivered, clicked on his own flashlight and nudged Bobby. "Let's get in there."

They hustled up to the humongous wooden door, ornate wrought iron knocker at arms' length above their heads.

"What makes ya think this door is gonna open anyways?"

"Cuz it always opens in the movies."

"The same movies where everyone dies?"

Archie gulped. Reached out a hand and turned the knob.

The door swung open.

Bobby stuck the lantern in through the open door, illuminating a huge foyer, black and white tiles on the floor leading to a broad staircase. Over head was a massive crystal chandelier covered in years worth of dust and spider webs.

Archie took the first tentative step into the building, flashlight held high, sweeping the area with its beam.

The light reached the landing at the top of the staircase as he panned it over the space.

"Wait!" Bobby whispered. "Go back. Did you see…"

Archie cast Bobby a doubtful look but turned it back to the left. "There." The light froze.

"Holy… yeah… I see it," Archie whispered back.

"Is this some kinda sick joke you and Sanders cooked up?"

"No! No, I swear…"

"Who else knew we were comin' out here---- you didn't tell Hodges, did you?"

Archie snorted. "Yeah. Hodges and I talk _aaaall_ the time. You think we should….?"

Bobbie nodded shortly. "You first."

Archie steeled his shoulders, took a quick scan of the area, then walked slowly towards the staircase.

He reached a hand up, hesitated, then brushed his fingers over the pale white ankle before snatching his hand back and frantically rubbing it on his jeans .

He turned around, the flashlight showing Bobby staring at him from the doorway, dinner plate eyes in an alabaster face.

"Feels real. Real dead."

"Are you shittin' me?" Bobby muttered.

"Wish I was." He turned back to cast the beam of his flashlight on the corpse hanging from the banister. The light caught something at the top of the stairs.

"Bobby…"

"C'mon, Arch. I'm done with this."

"No, man. I'm serious. I think there's someone else up there."

"Well go check it out," Bobby said, cemented to the doorway.

The Asian rolled his eyes and threw him a glare. Throwing a second look behind him at the dangling body he shivered, then placed his foot on the bottom stair.

By the time he'd reached midlevel he took the rest two at a time and dropped to a crouch next to a second body. He took in her blood covered chest, then tentatively placed two fingers on her neck.

"It's a woman. She's dead too," he whisper-shouted as he rose from his squat. "Looks like she was shot in the heart. She's covered in blood."

He jogged back down to the foyer.

"I think we need to report this."

Bobby nodded slowly. "Who you gonna call?"

* * *

"I can't believe you two geeks had nothin' better to do on a night off than muck around in a deserted building. Someone's been watchin' too much Supernatural."

"People actually watch that show? I hear it airs on a tough night."

Warrick shot Brass a smirk. "Yeah, I've been known to catch it, but there aren't any babes on the show."

"I bet Catherine would beg to differ."

"Hey! Cath doesn't need to be eyeing no man candy. She's got plenty right here in Vegas."

Nick sighed. "And Grissom tells me _I_ watch too much TV. C'mon. Let's get in there and get this over with. Gettin' frickin' wet out here."

"Aw, Nicky, you wont melt," Brass jibed. "But I agree, let's get this over with. So which one of you wants to gimme the rundown?"

Archie stepped forward. "Two bodies, that's what I got."

Nick looked around the gravel drive. "Only cars I see are the Ectomobile and our Denali. And the uni smart enough to stay in his cruiser outa the rain."

Brass frowned, walked over to the patrol car and knocked on the window, hooking a finger at the cop inside. The window rolled down part way. "Hey, Condannato. If your CAPTAIN is out in the rain, your ass is too."

The officer grimaced but shut the car off and got out to join them.

"Where are the DBs?"

"Right inside," Bobby spoke up. "Kinda _on_ the stairs."

Archie clarified, "The first DB is a man, hanging from the banister of a wide staircase that rises to a second level and branches off to both sides. There's a broad landing at its top. The second DB is a woman sprawled at the top of the landing and slightly around to the left."

Warrick quirked an eyebrow at the description, but clicked on his flashlight. "No power in this joint I guess?"

"Don't think Nevada Sierra Pacific's in the habit of offering power for free. Place has barely been lived in for seventy-five years. And no one at all for the last twenty," Jim said.

At the surprised look he shrugged his shoulders. "What? I've been in Vegas long enough to know all the local legends too."

Nick fired up his own Maglite, a 20 foot area of light illuminating the foyer.

Warrick cocked his head at the light. "Your flashlight's bigger than mine, bro."

Nick smirked. "Oh, I'm sure it's not size, it's what you do with it. I'm sure you're used to telling ladies that, right?"

"Picture that." Warrick grumbled. Then turned and headed towards the door, the rest of the gang and the uniform following, most of them snickering into their hands.

They entered the home, flashlights and lanterns illuminating a huge foyer, and, as described, a doublewide staircase. No bodies.

"I see the stairs, Arch. DBs are here, right?"

Archie's jaw dropped. "Yeah. They're right here. They're … Bobby, tell them!"

"They were. I swear. Two bodies. Archie even touched em. At least, he told me he did."

"I did! Damn, I'm telling you there were TWO BODIES here."

Warrick took the stairs slowly to the top. "No body here, Arch."

"You two knuckleheads think it's a joke dragging us out here? You on any controlled substances I should know about. Scooby snacks, maybe?" Brass snarked.

Nick panned his Maglite around to illuminate the floor. "Only footprints in the dust are Rick's he just made and a set that goes that way," he said, raising the light higher.

"That was me. Checking on the DEAD BODY hanging from the banister," Archie huffed.

"Ooookay. No blood. Rick, you got blood up there??"

"Got nuttin', man. Some nice carpeting though. And a buncha specimens for Grissom's spider collection," he said, his boot falling on _something to_ crush it.

"Look, there was no blood on the guy, he hung himself. But the woman had been shot in the chest and I saw blood."

Warrick came back down, wiping dust from his hands. "Saw no blood, Arch, but if it it'll make you feel better I'll Luminol it. Nick, you wanna help me do 'er up?"

"Sure, bro." He opened his case and pulled out his trusty spray bottle.

At the top of the stairs the two men sprayed down the entire area, then stood back to see the results.

Every inch they'd sprayed glowed an eeeerie blue.

"Jesus," Brass breathed from below. "Was there a massacre up there?"

Nick shook his head with a scowl. "Nah. Rick and me had a case in a turn of the century home a few months back. Same thing happened. They used tetrachloroethylene to clean the carpeting. Fouls up the reading. We won't be able to tell anything."

Jim turned to pin an annoyed glare on the two techs. "I highly doubt two DBs got up and walked on outa here. If this is joke, ha ha, you got the old man. Now can we go back and solve some real crimes?"

Bobby nudged Archie who looked like he was going to protest further.

"Yeah," Archie sighed. "Let's go."

Nick slapped him on the back. "Lay off on viewin's of The Ring would ya, Arch?" He smiled then saw the AV tech's hangdog expression. "C'mon, if its not busy we can play a little Halo. I'll even let you drive the Warthog."

A half dozen sets of boots crunched noisily on the gravel drive as the group headed out to their vehicles.

Warrick got into the drivers seat and stuck the key in the ignition. When he turned the key over he got not even a click of the alternator.

Nick groaned from the passenger seat. "You have got to be kiddin' me."

"Looks like we catch a cramped ride with Condannato," Brass grumbled, hauling himself down from the back seat.

"I'm not riding in the back" Warrick muttered.

As they got out of the truck they saw the uni getting out of his cruiser shaking his head. Archie and Bobby were returning from Johnson's Integra, both looking perplexed.

"Hey, Rick, what you put the odds at for this happenin'?" Nick murmured to his partner.

Warrick never got a chance to answer. There was a blinding flash of light and a nearly instantaneous crash as the sky opened up and the drizzly rain became a deluge.

They all made a mad dash for the house, muscling to see who could squeeze through the door frame first.

Standing, dripping in the foyer, the men wiped their faces down, flinging water all over the floor.

Jim wrung out the tail of his suit jacket, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. "I'll call motor pool about jumps for our cars."

"You think it was lightning?" Nick mused.

"What the--?" Jim punched at the buttons on his cell. "Damn battery is dead."

Warrick pulled his phone from his belt at the same time the others pulled theirs out.

Five sets of fingers punching at five dead phones. The uniformed officer was fiddling with the receiver of his radio, then shrugged his shoulders as well.

"Condannato, go try the squad car radio!" Brass barked, a drop of water suspended from his nose.

The uni wrinkled his nose but ran back outside. He came back a few minutes later, thoroughly drenched. "Nothing, Captain. Dead air."

"I dunno about you guys but I'll be hanged if I'm gonna stand here dripping all night. Place like this has gotta have a living area. Maybe a fireplace," Nick said.

"Dibs on the couch," Warrick said with an evil grin. "C'mon, let's check it out this way." He headed off down a hallway to the left, the others falling in behind him.

The hallway was wide, the walls on either side punctuated by old portraits of creepy staring people in old-fashioned garb. At the far end hung a tattered tapestry, a pack of hounds tearing apart a poor unfortunate fox.

A set of double wooden doors sat on the right at the end of the hall. Warrick shoved them open with a groany creak, shining his light in to reveal a sitting room. What he hoped to hell was furniture appeared as large looming lumps covered in dusty sheets.

"There's your ghosts, Archie. Boo!"

"Ha ha," the tech mumbled, sliding in past Warrick. He pulled a sheet free from a large leather club chair. Nick moved in to pull another sheet free from a massive couch.

Warrick grinned at the sight. "I'm set." He flopped his lanky body down to sprawl across all three cushions.

"Guess I'll make the fire," Nick said with a roll of his eyes at his lazy partner.

"Yeah, bro. Use them boy scout skillz of yours."

"Ha ha," Nick muttered as he knelt to check out the damper. He pulled it open with a rusty squeal, years of soot falling free. He pulled several pieces from the stack of wood next to the fireplace, piling them onto the grating.

"Anyone got a light?"

Warrick dug in his jeans pockets. "Don't ruin the matchbook, bro. Got a fine lady's digits on it." He tossed the book to Nick who opened it and pretended to memorize the numbers.

"Hey! Hey!"

Nick smiled and turned the key for the gas, tossing in the match where fire burped to life to lick at the old wood. It was only after observing the flames for a moment that it dawned on Nick there shouldn't have been any gas …

Jim settled himself into a chair near the fire, holding out his hands to warm them. "So we havin' a slumber party, kids?"

Warrick snorted. "Ain't no one paintin' MY toenails."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

(2/6)

* * *

Nick jiggled his Maglite in his hand, the beam blinking in and out even though he had changed out the batteries just last week for a scene at the bottom of a well. He'd had to buy a new pair of Timberland boots after his trusty set stood in stagnant water for hours on end. It took days later to get rid of the smell of mildew from his nose.

"What now? Your light going dead?" Jim asked his own source not behaving right.

"Might want to be careful usin' that word," the beat cop suggested.

The Captain whirled on the guy with a devilish grin. "Why, Condannato, you scared of the dark?"

The younger guy huffed, "No, sir, just don't like temptin' fate."

"Well good. Maybe you could go find us something to use if all our flashlights go out on us."

"You want me to go back out there alone?"

When Brass raised an eyebrow the uni shook his head. "I'll go find us some candles or somethin'," and left, muttering something about how this being how people got whacked in the movies.

Warrick still lounged on the sofa and despite the availability of a comfy-looking leather chair Nick didn't feel like sitting. He walked towards the two lab geeks huddled together. He had to watch his step in the limited light and squatted next to them as his curiosity got the better of him.

"What's that, boss?"

Archie lowered his head sheepishly while Bobby chuckled.

Now he really wanted to know what caused the two techs, who normally talked incessantly, to suddenly clam up. Nick caught sight of some type of device in Archie's hands and he cast his light over it to snag a better look. "What's that?"

The AV wizard tried to slip whatever it was inside one of his jacket pockets but his cohort wouldn't let him.

"Show him," Bobby insisted.

Archie shot his friend a daggered look, but held out his toy for the CSI. "It's an EMF meter."

Nick opened his palm as an invitation and the other man handed it to him without a word. It was a small box, about the size of his hand, a few knobs on the front of the black metal casing and he studied a needle jumping around like a Geiger detector, though he figured that wasn't what it was supposed to track.

"This is monitoring magnetic sources?" Nick looked over at both nerds, tilting the device so they could watch the needle drift slowly side to side.

Archie licked his lips, but any hesitancy evaporated the more he spoke. "Close. It detects the tiniest shift in magnetic and electric fields- even the weakest source."

Nick snuck a look behind him, Jim and Rick safely immersed in their own conversation, as he indulged in geek talk. "What about power lines?"

Bobby grinned at him and Nick couldn't suppress a laugh. "Oh, come on, I understand the principle, searching for ya know…" His head bobbed, lips twisted in thought, but unable to actually say the word.

"Ghosts or paranormal activity," Archie interjected.

Nick's eyebrows arched, teeth gnawing at his lips, feeling all the world like some kid.

"This was designed by a physicist to ignore all manmade EM sources to eliminate any false positives from normal everyday things."

Nick was still mum, but his smile widened.

"He bought it off the Vegas ghost hunters' website." Bobby added.

The criminalist wet his lips and with another glance behind him lowered his voice. "So… ah... anythin' happen?"

Both techs beamed. "Oh, yeah," they answered in unison.

"Where?" he drawled. He couldn't help but feel just a little giddy and it brought out his twang.

Archie stood up from his crouch, the other two rising with him. "It went a little wiggy outside, but then the thing jumped when we were near the stairs."

Nick felt the tingle of excitement, a fuzziness in his belly, but it cooled as the logical part of his mind kicked in. "Show me."

The Asian watched him for a moment as if weighing out the possibility it was just a joke, but he held the device so the Texan could observe. "There are cold spots it detects, like ripples in the field."

Nick followed closely behind with the ballistic expert flanking the bearer of the modern day divining rod. The trio headed towards the beginning of the room, Nick's flashlight the only source for sight, his beam alternating between the readout and ensuring they wouldn't bump into anything.

"Hey, fellas."

Three collective heads turned, Rick's light pointed in their direction. "Where're you all off to?"

Nick's throat felt dry as he cleared it, searching for the right words. Bobby beat him to an answer. "We're checking out changes in the energy effect field within the house." The Georgian grinned in the dark. "Wanna come?"

Nick waited... and… … any second now.

Warrick didn't quite burst out in laughter; it was more like he was fighting for air. After the failed attempt to _not _laugh like a hyena the other criminalist controlled himself. "Um, if it involves getting off this couch, then I'm out. But... Um, have fun searching for Casper."

Nick knew he wasn't going to hear the end of this for a very long time. He made sure when he jabbed Bobby in the arm that it left a mark.

* * *

A spring dug right into his ass; no matter how many times he adjusted, or shifted his weight, the damn thing poked in places that nothing had any business being. Not only did the damn thing hurt, the couch squeaked... and squeaked loudly with every inch he moved.

"Got ants in your pants, Rick?"

He rolled his eyes, but no way the Captain saw his irritation in the dark. The low fluorescence from the lantern sitting in the middle of the room only reached a few feet; everything else was bathed in dim, low light, then swallowed up by the darkness. He tried leaning back, but all the commotion he caused generated more dust and released mildew in the air. The odor of decay and rot perpetuated in breath after breath.

The rain pelted down on the windowpanes, sheets of water assaulting the house as the storm grew. No doubt the heavy rainfall would make their stay at the Amityville House all the longer. Warrick blew out a breath, aware of the cold damp that hung in the air, the chill sinking into his bones and he shivered involuntarily...the temperature in the room seem to dip down and he wrapped his arms around himself despite how it may look to his co-worker.

"Maybe we can roast some marshmallows."

He snorted at his companion's joke, eyes adjusting every so slowly to his surroundings.

"Or maybe we could find some sleeping bags and tell ghost stories."

Warrick shook his head. "You can't lay off the corny jokes tonight, huh?"

Jim moved closer, his feet making every wooden board creak under his weight. "What can I say, Rick, I missed out at slumber parties when I was a kid."

Warrick sighed, wondering if the others were having as much fun. The wind picked up strength outside, howling in the night, one of the window shutters banging loudly outside. The Addam's Family house was something right out of one of those stupid movies; large, dark, and creepy. The lantern's light flickered on and off, sending shadows across the opposite wall. Warrick found nothing of interest, the rest of the furniture hidden under dingy linen.

In between the flicker of light he made out a lone oil painting that hung above the mantel. His eyes found a set of candleholders, brass or gold, which decorated the dusty shelf. Every few seconds he took in more detail of the few feet he could see in front of him. Spider webs covered every corner, webbing even up inside the fireplace; no doubt when they began the fire it roasted several hundred of Grissom's favorite pets.

The thin silky lines reflected in the light and his eyes examined the intricate designs of the spider's home. Call it his own senses heightened by the wildly macabre setting but his eyes kept drifting towards the painting; the dark tones made it hard to see the subject well. The flickering light reminded him of those filmstrips in school; a peek here and there in between blackness and Warrick made out the stone cold face of a very stern looking gentleman.

Maybe one of the past owners. The man's eyes, even in the dimness, resonated a coldness that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. They stared off into the distance, hollow and lifeless. Warrick gave his head a shake. No way the picture looked like that, had to be the atmosphere, and his mind filling in the spooky tone.

"Think the people who lived here would've taken their stuff with 'em."

Jim's voice and hand on his shoulder made him jump, causing the Captain to chuckle. "Jumpy aren't we?"

"Jeez, man. Don't go sneaking up on a guy like that. I own a gun, remember," Warrick growled, annoyed he startled so easily.

"Sorry, I was getting lonely."

Warrick stood up, tired of dealing with the lumpy sofa and swore he could feel the room grow colder. "Maybe the guys were right to go exploring; at least they're moving around."

Jim pulled at his suit jacket, no way to wrap it around any tighter. "No way I'm going off in the dark in the belly of this place. For all we know there's an army of hungry rats searching for their next meal."

Warrick snorted. "Nah, more like some secret lab in the basement."

"Would have to be a monster in the lab," Brass mused.

The jokes only brought on more sinister and evil ideas; a big old mansion could hold deadly secrets. Warrick tried to suppress a shiver but it only tightened his back as it ran down his spine. He stared back at the painting and the eyes glared right back.

Warrick blinked. Wasn't the guy staring off in the distance before, head turned to the right? He squinted in the darkness and Lord help him if the dark pupils didn't move slowly within their sockets.

He backed away, bumping into his pal.

"Hey, Rick. Careful now."

His heart was so loud in his ears. Warrick swallowed a large lump back. Okay, Brown, stop psyching yourself out.

"You, uh, think the rest of the gang are all right? You know... this house might not even be able to pass a modern inspection. Stairs might be rotted, floor unstable."

The outside roared as the simple science of cold air shifting over warm, created a sonic shockwave. Didn't keep the two men from huddling closer together in an uneasy silence.

"Think we ought to go check on our ghostbusting crew?"

It was stupid. The tight feeling in his gut the result of too many midnight movies as a kid. Warrick didn't want to, but forced himself to glance at the painting, the man's eyes still staring right back at him. No way were they _moving._

"I'm just sayin'. Don't want to press our luck with the way everyone's nerves all are keyed up."

Before Jim could add his two cents, both men jumped out of their skins when they heard yelling from deep within the house.

"Ah, damn," Warrick growled, hand dropping to his side arm with Jim doing the same.

They both were out of the room like a shot, Warrick carrying their only light source, and looking back at the eerie room, fearing that those evil eyes would be glistening in glee.

* * *

The mansion was huge. Between the long, never-ending hallways and the murals and tapestries that aged away on the walls, all that was missing was a suit of armor stashed away in a corner. The place was drafty, the musty air and their damp clothes made Nick's skin feel clammy. He held his Maglite high, the powerful circle of light allowing them to see only a few feet ahead as the dark seemed to swallow the beam. Every corner of the home creaked, and there was the sound of tiny rodent? feet skittering about whenever they approached.

They hovered around the bottom of the stairs, the two techs trading worrisome glances as they approached their crime scene that had vanished. Archie looked up from his chattering meter at the ceiling as if making sure a corpse wasn't hanging from the banister.

"That thing supposed to go nuts like that?" Nick whispered, not sure why he was doing so.

Archie's eyes were wide, face giddy with excitement. "The energy readings are like five milligauss," he whispered loudly, barely able to contain his enthusiasm.

Nick leaned over his shoulder. "And that means?"

"Anything over two indicates fluctuations in both magnetic and electric fields above normal ranges," Bobby explained in a hushed tone.

The trio began their ascent of the staircase, the popping of their instrument picking up speed.

"The readings are gettin' stronger," Bobby, whispered eagerly. Archie's eyes couldn't beam any more.

Nick alternated between the readings and their direction, the wood creaking under their weight as they went up. He eyed the chandelier as it swayed, sure that there was no disturbance enough to cause the thing to move. He felt himself swallowing back a tiny voice suggesting they ease off a bit, when Archie grabbed his shirt sleeve and gestured towards the hallway.

"Down here!"

It seemed the tech was no longer worried about lowered voices as he sprinted down the hall forgetting that he was supposed to be tiptoeing around. Nick just rolled his eyes and turned to make a joke of it to Bobby, only to find the 'light keeper' had followed suit. They were like two school kids racing on a treasure hunt.

Before he could muster up a 'wait' Nick breathed a, _why does this always happen to me, _as he chastised himself for getting all caught up in the adventure. One wary look back at the still swinging chandelier and he held onto his hat and dashed after the two techs.

He caught up to them both as they waited impatiently for him in front of a door. "In here, the EM is off the charts!"

"Uh, guys," Nick mumbled as he followed them into another room and waited for his eyes to adjust to his new surroundings. He allowed a low whistle at the number of shelves crammed with books.

"Must be the library," he said in awe.

Bobby held the light aloft, spreading the illumination in a circle to get every inch of the large room. "All we're missing is Colonel Mustard."

"Got a candle stick," Archie joked, but he did indeed hold out a silver one, with a half used stick of wax.

Nick waved his hand, and Archie handed it to him, while he fished out Warrick's matchbook. He lit the candle, amazed that an orange flame grew from the crusty wick. With the two ghostbusters consulting their toy he walked towards one of the bookcases and began to inspect each spine.

"That thing making popcorn yet?" he asked over his shoulder, fingering each dusty cover.

If the guys got his joke they didn't say so. "The thing jumped to six, but tapered off after we got in."

"Maybe you don't have the thing adjusted right," Bobby suggested. "The setting could be off, it has a range of twenty feet right?"

"Yeah."

"Then maybe you need to fine tune it. Could be that the ego plasma moved or it was getting some reading from another room," the Georgian suggested.

Any silly unease at traipsing around a big old mansion wore away as Nick searched through the large array of books. Many were in German with most of the collection an assortment of old scientific texts. He went from shelf to shelf, skipping what looked like a large volume of encyclopedias. His lips quirked at some very outdated chemistry books, recognizing the formulas and equations, but the text still meaningless.

The wealth of knowledge, while ancient by some standards was oddly fascinating. He'd never cared much for fancy collectors' items, but the impressive selection of science stuff piqued the nerd in him. He thumbed through tattered pages of vellum, the edges painted with gold leaf. Curiosity waning finally he set his sights on a large ornate one that lay open, flat on top of a pile because its size was too large to be filed correctly.

He hefted the tonnage as his buddies argued over parameters and electron impulses. Frick and Frack debated more about the physics of energy waves than he cared to follow. He tilted his candle a little more to examine what wound up being some type of zoology book.

He flipped it shut to look at the front cover. _Species of the Australian Outback. _

"Hey, Nick."

"Hmmm." He glanced back over to see the two nerds awaiting some kind of an answer. He wet his lips. "Um, sorry. What's up?"

Archie tilted the meter for him to see. "I think there was a fluctuation and... well we were going to go further down the hall and see if we couldn't find the source of the cold spots."

Bumping around in the dark, hunting phantoms was fun, but he preferred inspecting his new find.

"You guys go without me. I think I'm going to stick around and take a look at what's here."

For the first time the two techs acted nervous. Nick had the presence of mind to look indignant. "Go on," he drawled. "Let me know if you find anything."

"Ya sure?" Bobby hesitated.

Nick put on his sternest expression, but allowed a smile to appear. "Think I'll be fine reading a book."

Archie bounced on his feet. "We'll only be a few minutes."

"I'll be here."

Nick went back to flipping through more of the text, running across ink drawings of a platypus. Some of it was actually in English and he got a kick out of some of the descriptions. This had to have been in the owner's family before he had possession of it. Glancing back up and noting the antique fireplace and the old fashioned pistol mounted on the wall, he knew the book could be as old as the 18th century.

God, he was acting like Grissom when he found a new eight-legged friend. He smirked and set the candle down on a higher slot above him so the light would be enough to read by. He thumbed through a section on exotic fish and other sea creatures, then stopped when it came to indigenous species of birds. Out of habit he looked around to make sure no one was about and then began reading the rest in earnest.

The flame flickered and Nick felt his skin crawl as he shivered. Every hair on his arms stood on end, the room temp dipping so cold that it startled him when his he saw vapor from his breath like that in a freezer. His eyebrows scrunched in confusion, his face and, hell, his nose felt the frigidness of ice as he glanced behind him, an eerie sensation slithering down his spine.

The 5-watt flame did little in such a large space. He gave his head a shake, chalking up his paranoia again to the heebie-jeebies of earlier. The pages of the book were stuck together and he licked his right finger to get them unglued. He had just peeled back the pesky page when something jabbed him in the back eliciting a sharp pain over his kidney.

He grabbed at his right flank when he felt a gust of icy wind in front of him. He smelled the heavy scent of cigar, followed by a punch to his gut. He doubled over, hand protecting his belly, as he struggled with having the wind knocked out of him. His eyes darted wildly in the blackness in search of his assailant. Trying to defend himself was a moot point when no one was there.

He balled up his right fist, waiting for a target, when he was clocked hard in the jaw. His head flew sharply to the right, his teeth rattling in place as his neck snapped with the sheer force to the side of his face. He tasted copper and a trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth.

He used the bookshelf as a guide, the pitch-blackness of the room blinding him. His attacker had moved, the air around him swirling like a warm and cold vortex. After the first few cheap shots he was seriously pissed as he stumbled to face whomever was trying to work him over.

"This is CSI Stokes of the Vegas Police Department. I am armed," he announced, hoping his voice would carry outside the room.

He undid the strap on his holster, hand on the butt of his gun, when he heard something metallic clanking in the distance. He couldn't see two feet in front of him, but the sound of someone over at the fireplace was unmistakable.

He whirled around to confront whatever the threat, his adrenaline pumping. "I need back up in the library!" he shouted. He wasn't a fool, playing cowboy when he didn't know what he was dealing with.

His heart hammered inside his chest and he could scarcely believe his eyes when a poker from the fireplace swam into view. There was no one holding onto the swinging metal tool and he managed to move within the throes of the panic in time to avoid a deadly blow to his skull. Unfortunately, his invisible attacker was tenacious and he didn't duck in time to dodge the follow-up swing. The tip of something hard and solid glanced off his temple.

He saw stars as he stumbled to the ground, gun clattering out of his hands. Dizzy and prone on the floor, he held his arm out blindly to defend against another hit.

Nothing came crashing down on him, the vapor of his rapid breath fogging up around him. He shivered on the ground, the room still caught in an arctic freeze. He blinked, fighting to stay awake, when he felt icy fingers caress the side of his face.

He flinched at the cold touch, but felt something much warmer and sympathetic in the room. Before he could register what was happening he heard the shouts of his pals behind the door. Fists pounded on the door and he heard the frantic calls of his name.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

"Nicky! Nick! Open up the door, man! Jim- help me out here- I'm gonna break the damn thing down!"

Warrick strode back ten steps, coiled, then charged at the door, planting his shoulder at the wood just as the door swung open. Momentum carried him into the room as he skidded for traction on the dust covered floor.

Nick was sitting on the floor, hand rubbing at his jaw, a dazed expression on his face.

"Nick! What the hell happened, man?"

Jim had followed quickly behind, dropping to a crouch to pull Nick's face up towards his flashlight beam.

"What's goin' on, Nicky? You fall or something?" the captain asked as he flicked the light in front of the fallen man's eyes.

Nick batted the light away, scowling at Jim. "I'm fine, Jim. Just …" and he held out a hand as the older man helped him to his feet.

Warrick grabbed Nick's arm as the man wavered for a second. Then backed off as his partner pulled away and stumbled to a nearby couch.

"So," the tall man said with a sigh, hands planted on hips. "You ready to tell us what all was goin' on in here? Sounded like you were havin' a knock down drag out fight in here. You losing it, man?"

"No! I _was_ havin' a fight. Just don't know who with is all…"

Jim quirked an eyebrow and fought with a smile and a look of concern.

"Nick… there's no one else in here, buddy. You having a Sybil moment?"

The man on the couch rolled his eyes as his hand returned to his jaw. "I know it sounds crazy, guys, but I'm telling ya… there was _someone _in here."

Warrick sat down next to his partner and knit his hands together. "Nick …"

"_Don't_, Rick! I'm not crazy and I'm not makin' things up and I'm telling' ya, there was someone in here with me. And we fought. Actually, he hit me and I flailed about like a pig in mud tryin' to figure out where the punches were comin' from. And he got me a good one." He worked his strong jaw back and forth as he probed at the corner of his mouth.

"Did you, um, hit your head, Nicky?" Jim asked casually.

"Yeah," Nick mumbled, then it dawned on him what Jim meant by the comment. "I didn't _hit_ my head… I got hit _on _the head. By _that_." He pointed at a fireplace poker laying on the floor.

Jim walked over and bent to pick it up, hesitating for a second, then chuckling to himself as he pulled a handkerchief out of his suit jacket pocket and covered his fingers with it before retrieving the poker.

"Sorry. Old habits die hard, huh?"

"A'ight…so supposing Nick is telling the truth…" He averted his eyes as his partner glared at him. "If he is telling the truth, then that means someone was in here to attack him. The door was locked. The windows are locked." He walked over to where they'd found Nick at the foot of the fireplace. "Dust here on the floor has been disturbed, but …" He squatted to get a closer look. "Only treads I see are Nick's Timberlands."

He stood to scratch at the back of his head as he eyed up his partner. "Nick, man… no sign of anyone else in here."

"The fat lip I'm getting ain't enough for ya, Rick? Last time I'm telling' ya … I fought _someone. _Gimme a little while and I'll be happy to show you the bruises I'm gonna have over my frickin' kidney and on my face. I…" He dropped his hand into his lap disconsolately. "I… I know it sounds like I'm off my rocker."

"A'ight, bro. Take it easy. Hey, Jim. You think we oughta take a look around?"

"Yeah, Rick. Probably a good idea. Nick, you've always been one of the most level-headed guys I've known. If you say someone attacked you, then I believe you. You sure you didn't hit your head too hard, though?"

"Jiiiiiiim…"

He raised his hands in surrender. "Just checking. Radios work on batteries- I'll get Condannato on the horn, have him stay on his toes."

He raised the walkie-talkie to his mouth, depressing the talk button. "Condannato, it's Brass, what's your twenty?"

His only answer was the hiss of dead air.

"Condannato? Jim Brass, what is your twenty?"

No reply.

Jim tapped the butt of the radio on his hand and tried again. No answer.

"Goddamned radios… kids' toys would probably have better range," he grumbled as he snapped it back at his hip.

Archie and Bobby had been standing in the corner murmuring between themselves. Now both men stared with slack jaws at Jim.

"What? What's with you two?"

Bobby flashed Archie a look and mumbled something about a red shirt.

"Well… it's just…well…"

"Spit it out, Johnson," Jim said with a sigh.

"Maybe something really is here. Or was here."

"Some_thing_?" Brass asked with raised eyebrows. "What? Like a ghost? Casper gone bad?"

"Well, actually Nick's not the first person hurt in this house. There was a guy hired by the last owners to work on updating the wiring. When he didn't make it home his wife came around looking for him. Found him beaten and stabbed to death.

The case is still open. Not a drop of forensic evidence found; all indications were that he was there by himself."

Nick looked up from the couch, face a little paler than it was before. "Hey, boss. Why don't you start from the beginning? Give us the whole picture of what's goin' on in this place."

Archie nodded. "Well… back in 1917 there was--"

"Uh, boss. Vegas didn't even exist until 1960 somethin'. Before that it was nothin' but desert."

"Do you want to know the story or not?" Archie huffed.

"Rick, let him talk," Nick muttered lowly.

"Yeah, A'ight. Go'on, Arch."

"So, back in 1917, there was a German royal named Roderick Von Valkenberg. After the war he managed to escape with all the family money and popped up in what is now Las Vegas. One of the first things he did was to have the original German estate shipped over stone by stone. The second thing he did was meet and marry Lily Masterson. He brought her back to live in this house, presumably happily. They threw grand balls and entertained American aristocracy here. Then, in 1923, a visitor discovered Lily, dead, at the top of the stair, and Roderick hanging from the balustrade."

"And you and Bobby just happened to report a female and male decedent found in this house."

Bobby spoke up for the first time. "Look, I know how it sounds, but we _did _see two dead bodies. I'm not sayin' they were this Roderick and Lily couple. But there were dead bodies here."

Jim rubbed at his face and considered a moment. "Okay. Anything else to add to your campfire tale?"

Archie played with the EMF detector in his hands before continuing. "Since the deaths the house has had several different owners. Each owner has told a similar tale of weird sounds, objects moving on their own, and… attacks by unseen assailants."

"Ya see?" Nick said followed by a put out look.

Warrick patted him on the arm, sarcastically feigning comfort and apology. Nick ripped his arm away in an equally put on snit. Jim just rolled his eyes at their antics.

"All right. Ghosts or no ghosts, I've got a uni I can't reach by radio and there's no denying Nick got clocked by someone… or something. I think we need to take a better look around this place.

"Rick. Why don't you and I take a stroll? Nick? You and the Hardy Boys wait here in the study."

Nick rose and put his hands on his hips. "I'm fine, Jim. I'd love to get a better look around this place, and Frank 'n' Joe can come with me. What do ya say, guys?"

Archie smiled. "I'm game." Bobby considered a hangnail for a moment, then nodded.

"S'up to you.," Jim said with a shrug. "C'mon, Rick." He waved with his flashlight and Warrick stood to leave with him.

"Hey, bro, if you see any pale kids in party dresses or pigs with glowin' red eyes, you just hightail it away from them, ya hear?"

Warrick laughed. "If Archie starts chantin' 'redrum' or his head twists around? Shoot him."

* * *

"So, Archie. That doohickey of yours showin' anything?"

"Well …" Archie paused and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "When Bobby and I heard you in the library, we couldn't get the door to open. And I kinda held the EMF to the door… the readings were off the chart. Highest I've ever seen."

"And that proves there was … I mean …couldn't it have been a… a power surge or something?"

"A power surge in a house that has no power?"

"Well just cuz the lights aren't workin', doesn't mean there's no juice at all in the system. Necessarily," he added lamely.

"Like I said, this detector's designed specifically to ignore typical household generated EMF. The readings I got are textbook paranormal. Just wish we had a white noise recorder. Woulda loved to have listened in while.. Well, while you were having your, uh …encounter."

"Encounter, huh?" Nick rubbed at his jaw. "You, uh …" he craned his head around to search the room with his now strangely working Maglite beam. "You getting anything now?"

Archie flicked a couple switches and fiddled with a knob. "Nope. This room is clean."

"Thanks, Zelda," Bobby drawled and Nick snorted out a laugh.

"Well. Let's go see if we can't find ourselves somethin' for Archie's machine."

The three men hefted their lights and headed off to explore the house. They backtracked a bit, back down the hall where they found themselves in the foyer at the foot of the stairs.

"So tell me again what you two saw when you got here," Nick said, holding his flashlight aloft.

Bobby hesitated, then walked forward until he was next to the stairs underneath the banister a flight above. "There was a man hanging here. Dead. Definitely dead."

"Okay. So, could you tell what he was hanging by? Did it look like he had done it himself?"

Archie cocked his head as he thought about it. "I, uh, I think it was … it looked like a bathrobe. A ladies' silk bathrobe. Cream colored. And it was tied around the balustrade. I have no way of telling if it was something he did himself or …"

"Okay." Nick set his boots on the bottom stair, paused only briefly, then climbed to the top, stopping at the banister right above Bobby's head. He set the lantern down and bent to kneel on the carpeting. He examined the wooden railing with a practiced eye, checking every nook and cranny in the old wood.

"Got something here…" he said as he leaned closer, fingers reaching out to pluck a cream-colored silken thread from where it had snagged on a rough splinter.

"Cream silk... just like you said, Arch. So if you were right about this, then maybe we oughta take a closer look at where ya found the lady."

Archie climbed the stairs and knelt beside him on the landing. "Right here. Right above the hanging guy."

Nick passed professional fingers over the short, tight shag of the expensive old carpeting in the area Archie indicated, scanning again for blood stains or any other 'normal' forensic evidence he would find in a similar situation. Not that anything he'd ever done in ten plus years as a CSI had ever prepared him for such a thing.

"Where was her head, Arch? And her feet?"

Archie pointed towards the far left wall. "Head was at that end, feet were here close to the front of the landing. She was face up."

"Okay… so that would mean she was probably turned with her back to the wall … and if she was shot …"

He clambered to his feet and walked towards the wall. Heavy, velveted, richly decorated wallpaper covered it.

The criminalist turned back about, eyed up the place where Archie had described the body laying, then walked forward to put his feet in the spot where the phantom woman's had been.

"Okay. So if she was layin' like this, then the bullet shoulda hit ……" and he spun slowly to face the wall.

"You see where she was hit, Arch?"

"In the chest. The whole front of her was uh, red."

"Okay. Well, then that would put the bullet in this area," he mused as he walked back towards the wall, eyes not faltering.

His fingertips danced lightly across the surface of the wallpaper in an ever widening tight concentric circle so as not to risk missing anything. Nearly ten minutes later, at the bottom arc of the last circle he traced, his fingers dipped into a hole in the wall at navel level.

Nick pulled his trusty Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and flicked open the thinnest blade. He placed the point above the hole and began prying gently at the plaster.

"Hey, Bobby! I've got something here for you to take a loo-"

A hand landed on his shoulder. "Jesus!" He spun to find the ballistics tech right behind him.

"Cripes, Bobby! You scared the ---"

"Sorry. I heard you talkin' bullets so… you know."

"Yeah," Nick said breathlessly. "Yeah. Yeah, there's somethin' here in the wall." He stuck the knife point back in the wall, popping free a small, dull grey ball of metal covered in plaster dust. He handed it over to the ballistics tech, Bobby's eye glowing with anticipation in the lantern light.

The Georgian let out a long low whistle. "Well, I'll be dipped. This looks like…" He blew gently on it, white powder hanging suspended in the light beam. He pulled it in closer, squinting at it, face breaking in a wide smile. "This here's a lead ball. By the diameter I'd say it's from a single shot flintlock pistol. Probably from the 17th or maybe the 18th century. Looks like it was pretty well made; even mangled like it is, you can see the surface was mostly free of flaws or burrs. This wasn't churned out to be used in war or by the constabulary. This was probably meant for more of a show piece."

Nick looked down at the floor, rubbing unconsciously at his jaw. "You know… I think I saw a gun like that."

* * *

"Hey, Jim. Take a look at this."

Warrick's flashlight beam played over two ornately carved wooden doors sitting in a high broad archway.

"They are impressive, I must admit," Jim muttered as he placed his hands on them and pushed.

They swung inward and the two men's flashlight beams were swallowed up by a massive open space. The floor was parquet, rich reddish wood in a repeating pattern of lighter and darker stains. Warrick swung his Maglite up, the beam splintering into a thousand points of multihued light as it struck a massive crystal chandelier. Each section, each piece, each dangling bauble refracted the light into a myriad of rainbows.

Warrick let out a long whistle. "Damn! Talk about bling!"

Jim walked a few feet into the room, casting his flashlight at the wall on the left. He gasped as he saw a light shine back at him and a dark figure staring at him, then laughed at himself as he realized the walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

"Man, Jim, you jumped like a chick in a B-horror movie," Warrick snorted.

"Hey, Rick. We all know what happens to guys like you in those movies, so you best check yourself, buddy."

"Yeah. Brothers never make it out unscathed. So, this the ballroom? Where's Miss Scarlet?"

"Always had a thing for Ms. Peacock. Older broads are more my speed."

"Don't see anyone or anything in here but some more of Grissom's little arachnid friends and about a year's wortha dusting."

They exited the ballroom and headed further down the hall, reaching the end of the wing.

"Looks like a dead end," Jim smirked. "Wonder what's inside…"

He opened the door to reveal a room something like the study where Nick had been attacked, only the décor was decidedly feminine.

Warrick poked his head in, then followed the beam of his Maglite into the sitting room. His hand pulled away a dusty sheet to expose a settee upholstered in floral fabric.

Jim walked over to a wide desk, light wood, ink blotter in a rich burgundy covering a portion of the surface along with a desk fountain pen set, a small globe in a brass stand, and a heavy gold clock in a glass dome.

"Catherine would sell a limb to get a desk like this," Jim chuckled. "Better than the TV tray in a broom closet setup she's got now."

"Yeah, no doubt ," Warrick agreed as he examined the books that filled the shelves that covered two of the walls.

"This lady had all the classics! Some of these look like first editions."

Jim walked over and laid out on the settee, arm flung dramatically over his forehead. "I am just plum tuckered out," he warbled in a funny falsetto. "I think I may just faint away."

"Jim, you 'd have made a helluva southern belle. Real Sarah Bernhardt."

"Why, I declare, Mr. Brown," Jim continued, then stopped short as he watched his breath suddenly coalesce into a silver mist.

The taller man was still chuckling, hesitating as he noticed his own breath crystallizing. A shudder ran down his spine as he felt every hair on his body stand to attention.

"Jim, you uh…." He wrapped his arms around himself as he was overcome with shivers.

"Yeah. Yeah, Rick. Got real cold in here. Think it's just an open window?" Jim asked doubtfully as he stood from the lounger.

As their breath quickened the room began to fill with a silvery fog, but much more than their breath could have ever produced.

"Like San Francisco meets the Hound of the Baskervilles in here," Jim muttered, his breath adding to the thickening mist. "What the f---"

"--Holy sh--"

A figure was forming in the fog. A woman, wearing a creamy silk nightgown, the fabric seemingly made from the mist she stood in. Long, unbound auburn hair, red, red lips against alabaster skin.

"_He's come. Thank God, he's come … maybe now… … maybe now, I'll have a chance…"_

She turned to look imploringly at Warrick, hand reaching out in supplication. Her voice was melodic and resonated on multiple levels as if she was harmonizing with herself.

"_Maybe now I'll have a chance to save him…"_

"Hey, Jim, Warrick whispered, frozen as her hand hovered inches from him. I see dead people."


	4. Chapter 4

Even with its noted extra size and power his flashlight could only do so much to chase away the darkness of the hallways. The beam bounced back and forth between the walls, flicking down to the floor occasionally so he didn't break his neck in a fall. That's all he'd need on top of this loony adventure. Nick didn't put it past his luck to have something happen like that. He kept vigilant for some black cat to scamper across his path and trip up his ankles. Sometimes he wondered if Fate got her amusement in toying with him, pinning the proverbial _kick me _sign on his back.

The trek seemed longer than before, and for the umpteenth time that night he wondered what exactly they were doing. Solving an old murder was respectable, but this lay somewhere between frigid and freezer burn on the scale of cold cases. He found the study and stood cautiously at the entranceway, casting his light inside… just in case. He scanned every corner then stepped in, checking the back of the door. One eye looked constantly behind him as he traced his megawatt beam over the fireplace.

Grey stones and granite lay perfectly silent, the hearth barren and void of any comfort or warmth. The mantel offered no insight to the bodies it used to warm. It was empty of family pictures, of the mementos and tchotchkes of modern homes. More spider webs and layers of dust and dirt covered every inch of it, and he drew his eyes to the dueling pistol resting undisturbed after all these years.

He was no expert on antique firearms, but it looked something he'd seen in a book he'd read about Alexander Hamilton and his rival Aaron Burr. Their dispute sent one to the grave and the other into the halls of history. Instinctively, his hand went to his vest and pulled out a latex glove, using it to protect any lingering evidence, and he lifted the gun from the spokes keeping it place.

It was missing its partner; usually these types of pistols were locked away in pairs. The butt of the gun was thicker than his automatic, the single flintlock waiting to be pulled back. He studied the heavy barrel, his nose assaulted by the fresh scent of oil. He flinched at the unexpected smell, eyes narrowing. No way could the thing have been fired recently, but the steel end had powder residue still clinging to the hollow opening.

He scanned the decorative frame box that had exhibited the gun, finding only the rod used to pack a single bullet in; there was no ammunition to be found. The tingle than ran down his neck at the thought of checking for GSR had him wetting his bottom lip in thought. If Warrick or Jim found him swabbing for anything, endless jibing about his mental health would soon follow.

" 'Course you are trying to connect a gun with a slug you just dug out of a wall," he mumbled out loud. He gave his head a shake.

Great. Talking to yourself, too. Wonder how long before the men in white dragged him off to a padded room.

In for a penny, in for a pound. He swung his light towards a large roll top desk that he had not really inspected on his first visit. He carried the pistol over and set it on the oak top, tucking his flashlight under one armpit, while he dug in one of his vest's numerous pockets for his GSR kit. The tiny inkpad looking thing was tucked away in a lower compartment. No matter the scene, his vest always stored the bare essentials; swabs, gloves, baggies, phenolphthalein and his residue testing supply.

He rested his Maglite on its butt so it shined upwards, casting shadowy shapes on the ceiling. He rolled his eyes in weariness and bit his lip as he set to work. He just wanted to calm his itchy paranoia before taking the weapon back over to Bobby. They didn't have the equipment necessary there to match the striations, but at least Bobby could make a good guess about whether the round might have come from the antique. As he peeled back the plastic wrapper on a swab the bulb in this flashlight began to flicker ...once again.

He narrowed his eyes accusingly at the sputtering rays of illumination and the pinpricks in his neck spread to goosebumps over his arms. The chorus of trepidation sung loudly as a chill slithered down his spine and his breath misted into a silvery cloud.

"Now what?" he growled, hand reaching for his Glock with more haste this time.

As he thumbed the leather strap off once again he whirled around to check for anyone creeping up behind him. Thinking it was time to just grab the gun and get the heck out of dodge, he reached out for his evidence as his light finally went off for good, plunging him into blackness.

"Great."

His fingers brushed over the desk, his right hand steady on his service piece. He didn't draw his weapon, not eager to shoot one of his coworkers in a fit of panic but there were no such things as gusts of wind indoors, he thought as an ice cold wave washed over him.

The blow to his back caught him off guard, the pain lancing over his already bruised kidney. He didn't hesitate, spinning around, fist swinging through empty air.

"Suspect on location!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, seriously hoping his pals would come bursting through the doors.

All it did was earn him a fist in the stomach, stunning him entirely this time. His body already bent over, he lunged forward in a clumsy attempt to tackle his assailant, but only succeeded in rushing over empty space.

"Somebody help!" His yell was a strangled gasp.

He didn't give a damn how he sounded. Getting beaten on by an invisible entity wasn't what he would call a fair fight.

Disoriented in his failed attempt to defend himself, he realized he wasn't even sure what direction the door was anymore.

"Show yourself!" he challenged into the darkness, his harsh breathing loud in his ears.

He was slammed by what sure as hell _felt_ like a fist land on the same sore area of his jaw and he wavered on his feet, arms pinwheeling for balance. When he heard a familiar scraping sound from the fireplace, it dawned on him what was coming next.

He heard the air get sliced by the poker and kept his body low. He successfully ducked a few blows using his hearing, but could only play dodge-em for so long before the metal skimmed over his forehead once again, sending him sprawling backwards.

This time he was down for the count, eyes fluttering open vainly, the stale smell of tobacco and wet wool assailing his senses.

He shivered on the ground, dazed, when a familiar warmth softly brushed over his cheek. This time he heard the sounds of music in the background and another reality draped itself across his senses.

It was a piano but not... the tune was scratchy, hollow, the sound of a Victrola echoing from another part of the room. It was faint under the hum of tension and everything shimmered as if backlit, images faded like pictures in an old photo album. There was a fire in the fireplace exuding a warmth so vibrant that all the aches in his bones melted away with the soothing crackle of the wood.

Was he dead? He couldn't move, or speak, but he could hear a low guttural voice with a heavy German accent.

"_Did you think I wouldn't find out?" _

There was something sinister in the methodical, even tone and he looked up to see a tall, older man dressed in an old-fashioned, impeccably tailored, grey flannel suit. And the man's eyes… those steely blue eyes burned with a fury that made Nick swallow with dread.

_A younger man with shoulder length dark hair held his hands out in a calming gesture, trying to add space between him and the violence of the aristocrat advancing. He could have been one of the men on the covers of those historical romance novels Nick's sisters used to read_

"_Mr. von Valkenberg, Lily and I wanted to tell you."_

"_Silence! You will not mention her name with your devil's tongue." The German wiped at his bushy salt and peppered mustache, then dug his hands through his short wavy hair. His left eye twitched in time with the beating vein at the side of his head._

"_She never meant to hurt you, sir. All those weeks you spent overseas on business and when you did come home you treated her so coldly." _

"_Roses!" the older man spat. "A tramp doesn't deserve flowers. You tainted her pureness, left her nothing but a whore!"_

_The younger man's square jaw tightened and thrust forward, his eyes narrowed as he closed the gap. "Lily loves romance, and deserves to be treated special. Not ignored or commanded around like one of your Great Danes."_

"_You mean to strike me? With those worn worker hands that dig silver out of the mines?" _

_The German brushed by his wife's lover and pulled off a leather glove, caressing the spines of his books. "Books are knowledge and knowledge is power. Can you even read?" he sneered._

"_We're going to be together. You can buy everything in the world, Mr. Von Valkenberg, but you can't buy love. Not Lily's love."_

_The young man gripped his suspenders tightly; they cost him a month's worth of dimes and quarters earned with back-breaking labor and were worn over the only dress shirt he'd ever owned. _

_He held his breath as the older man paused, then started to walk away, seemingly unconcerned by the young man's words._

_Until he spun on his heel and attacked the younger man with a viscous punch to the back. _

"_Verräter!" the German yelled as he pulled his wife's beloved by the shirt collar and slammed a fist into his middle. _

_The younger man swung wildly but the older man was fast on his feet. Von Valkenberg's hand smashed into the other man's face, knocking him down to the floor._

_Left stunned, the younger man struggled on the floor while the enraged husband scanned the room, eyes lighting up as he stormed over towards the fireplace. With a very familiar weapon in hand, the husband was on his fallen prey and struck the young man on the side of his head._

_His chest heaving and his face a shade of burgundy, he was out the door within seconds of bludgeoning his victim._

Nick witnessed the argument and attack with dawning fear, realizing the past was replaying itself for him. The pit in his stomach grew to a chasm, frightening thoughts filling it quickly. His limbs were filled with lead, and the restraint of his movements added to his increased panic. He was stuck in a void, safe for the moment from the fury of the fight, but still unsure what other horror he had yet to witness.

His voice didn't work, his throat was dry as the Mojave, and the same force that had a hold of every muscle paralyzed his vocal cords. He didn't have long to wait as his counterpart struggled to stand after the wallop to his skull.

_The enraged husband was back and this time he wielded a large butcher knife._

A foreboding sense of what would happen next left Nick petrified. His screams were trapped in his throat as the aristocrat charged in with not just the anger of a betrayed husband, but the rage of a man bent on cold-blooded murder.

_The sin of one was cut down by that of another. Von Valkenberg's prim and proper grey suit was spattered with dark arterial spray. The eyes of the betrayed glowed with a sinister calmness, thin lips drawn in a harsh smile as his face was dashed with more bright red fluid._

_The young lover didn't stand a chance, concussed and vulnerable on the floor._

"_She'll never find your remains in the pond. She'll never find you, ever."_

_The husband didn't even wipe the blood from his cheek. He simply drew the dripping blade over his trousers, a dazed look in his eyes as he wandered towards the mantel. He picked up the display box and retrieved the dueling pistol, then went to his desk, pulled out a box, and used a thin rod to load the flintlock with its single shot. The barrel of the gun wavered under the man's chin, finger tightening over the trigger, and then with a final look at the body on the floor, the husband shoved the pistol into a pocket._

_He shook his head. "Only one round."_

_Von Valkenberg dragged the body of his wife's dead lover onto a large rug. "I'll take care of you and then my sweet Lily will make things right."_

Nick felt his head swell with a buzzing sound, his vision swam into blackness, and before he could get his bearings, his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

* * *

"You two done fightin' over who's Sam and who's Dean?"

Archie and Bobby looked up as one, deer in headlights startled.

"Hey, Cap'n," Archie stammered out. "We were just talking about the bullet Nick dug out of the wall. And for the record, I am sooo Dean."

Jim snorted loudly. "Please. You're BOTH Sams. And what bullet?"

Bobby held out his hand, nestled in the center of which was a flattened ball of lead, white plaster still clinging to it. "It's a bullet from a single shot flintlock. Probably 17th or 18th century. We figure it's the bullet that killed the lady of the house."

Jim exchanged a heavily laden look with Warrick, then sighed in acceptance. "This lady you told us about, Arch… Lily von …"

"Von Valkenberg. Yeah. What about her, Cap'n?"

"What did she… uh… what did she look like?"

"Well, it was kinda dark when I saw her… IF it was her that I saw… but she had auburn hair, was real pretty… maybe in her twenties?"

"Uh huh," Jim said with a nervous nod. "And …uh… story is her old man offed her, right? Here in the house?"

"Yeeeah," Archie said slowly. "Why? What's goin' on?"

Warrick spoke up, almost angrily. "That electrothingamajigger tell you if someone, uh, like, touched …something?"

Archie's brow wrinkled. "You mean, if like a spirit made actual contact with a live person it would leave some form of ecto-evidence, yeah. I mean, I think it would. It's supposed to … not sure I've ever know anyone who was able to actually test it, but yeah …" The AV tech stood, the gears in his brain turning so quickly that it was surprising smoke wasn't seeping out of his ears. "In theory, yeah, the EMF should be able to pick up trace evidence of a genuine spectral cross-dimensional encounter. Why? Why are you so suddenly interested?"

The strange silent communication resumed between the detective and the CSI. They reached an unspoken agreement and Jim sighed again.

"We… we think we just met Lily."

Now Bobby stood to join them. "Are y'all serious?"

Warrick practically growled. "Yes," he managed to bite out.

Archie was already firing up his machine and started walking towards Jim.

"Hey, Spock… keep your spooky tricorder to yourself. Yeah, yeah…close your mouths. Anyone can make an easy Star Trek joke. Doesn't mean you actually watch the damn show. Anyway, it was Warrick that the lady took a shine to. She uh ..._caressed _his cheek."

Warrick rolled his eyes and mentally thanked his lucky stars for his naturally dark complexion and the near complete absence of light. "Can't help if the ladies love me."

"Yeah, playa," Jim snorted. "Even the dead ones. You know, we'd probably be ragging on someone else if your partner…"

He stopped and cocked his head. "Where the hell is Nick anyway?"

"He, uh, said he thought he knew where he'd seen the gun this bullet might belong to," Bobby said.

Jim nodded. "Uh huh. And there's only one room Nick spent any time in that he woulda seen something we didn't. And that's the library. Whose bright idea was it to let Danger Prone Nicky traipse off-ALONE- back to the room where he got his beat down?"

Now it was time for the two techs to exchange uncomfortable looks.

"Yeah," Jim muttered. "Let's go find our wayward lamb, shall we?"

* * *

"Hey, Nick! You in there, bro?" Warrick asked as they entered the room. He held his flashlight high and washed it over the room, not seeing any sign of his partner. He turned to tell the rest of them when he heard a low moan from behind the large roll top desk.

He quickly dashed the Maglite back over, moving further into the room as the desk only served to cast a deep obscuring shadow. "Nick?"

The Texan's head popped into view, one hand rubbing shakily at his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here," he said dolefully.

"What the fuck happened, Nick?" his partner asked in a hushed tone as he dropped to a crouch next to the fallen man. "Don't tell me you got clocked by the phantom Tyson?"

Nick rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Didn't see who it was. But I think I know who it was…"

He planted a hand on the desk and pulled himself up to lean heavily against its bulk.

He looked up to see Jim and the two techs staring at him. "I…" Nick sighed and shook his head. "I'm FINE, guys. Just a little …spooked is all."

"Why don't you take a load off, Nicky? Get your head on straight and tell us what happened."

The Texan nodded slowly and limped over to drop down onto the couch. His hand rose to rub at his jaw in the same place as the first time around where a darkening bruise was now beginning to form.

Jim reached into his suit coat and pulled out his handkerchief, handing it silently to Nick who just looked blankly at him.

The older man smiled ruefully and pointed at his own mouth. "Got some blood there, Nicky."

"Thanks," the younger man muttered as he dabbed hesitantly at the corner of his mouth with a wince. He looked up to see Archie approaching him quietly with his detector held out.

"Whatcha doin' there, Arch?" Nick asked warily.

The AV tech continued to move in closer, eyes glued to his machine. "Nick, … I am getting the FUNKIEST damn readings off this thing…" He waved the machine in a wide circle in front of the CSI, then spiraled inward as he got closer. The whole gang could hear the machine popping like oil on a hot skillet.

Nick batted Archie's outstretched hand away irritably. "Point that thing somewhere else, Arch!"

"But, Nick --"

"Leave him be, kid," Jim said with a comforting hand on Archie's arm. "He's got a right to be cranky."

Archie nodded, then his eyes lit up and he swung the detector around into Warrick's face.

The machine resumed its happy chatter, albeit less enthusiastically than when near Nick.

"Alright. BOTH you guys are registering. Can someone PLEASE fill us in on what happened," Archie begged plaintively.

"Yeah," Bobby spoke up. "Ya'll tease us about chasin' ghosts but you three are the only ones to see 'em."

Nick cocked his head and stared at his partner and the captain. "You guys saw a ghost? A real, honest to goodness--"

Warrick was already shaking his head dismissively. "Not sure yet what Jim and me saw. Just wishin' we could find out it's some guy doin' all this shit and rip his mask off so he can yell about how he'da gotten away with it all if it weren't for us meddlin' kids."

"Ah, yes, Rick. If only life really were like Scooby Doo," Jim snarked. "If I do find someone's doing all this, I'll rip somethin' else. And haul his masked ass down to the station."

Archie was practically sputtering with barely restrained impatience. "Guuuuuuuys!"

Warrick almost burst out laughing at the poor put out AV tech. "Yeah, a'ight. So …. Yeah. It's true. Jim and I … did see somethin'. A lady. Looked like the way you described that Lily chick, Arch. She was kinda … there and NOT there. Kinda."

"What my friend here is trying to say," Jim said as he collapsed into a chair, "is that she was see through. Like translucent. And she talked to us. Somethin' about getting a second chance or something. She only stuck around for a few seconds and then she was gone."

"Whoa." Archie slumped down on the broad arm of the couch, then shot back up like he'd sat on a pin. "If I go back to where you guys saw her I could--"

"No one's goin' anywhere, Arch," Jim said gruffly. "We're gonna sit here and listen to Nick's tale of woe. And no one's headed back out into the house on their own. God damn Condannato. That man better enjoy school crossing duty."

"You worried about him, Jim?" Nick asked quietly.

"Yeah," the older man sighed, wiping a hand down his face. "So. Spill it, Nicky."

Nick sighed explosively, dropping his hands onto his thighs, rubbing the denim in classic stall technique.

"I found the pistol, on the mantel. Just like Bobby described. I had just started runnin' it for GSR when I got hit from behind. Same as before. Only this time, when the poker came at me I ducked when I shoulda weaved. I fell… I, uh…"

He rolled his head on his neck, hand wiping vigorously over his shaved dome.

"First I felt this… I dunno… like a presence. God, that sounds corny, but I can't really explain it. It was nothin' more than a whiff of perfume and a soft hand on my cheek." His hand rose unconsciously to rub where he'd felt it. "Then, she… it… whatever, went away and I saw two men. The one guy was, uh … I think the one guy was that von Val--"

"-Valkenberg," the other four said in unison.

"Yeah- that guy. Anyway, I saw that guy and another guy. He, uh. He was about my age. My height. Wearin' like old-fashioned clothes. They uh…" Another explosive sigh. "They fought. Over Lily. And the German dude whacked the younger guy over the head with a fireplace poker."

Four sets of eyebrows rose as one.

"Wait a second, Nicky. What exactly do you mean by you _saw_ them."

"I dunno, Jim. What did _you_ mean when you said you _saw_ the lady?"

"Point taken."

"Anyway, then the duke or whatever he was left and uh…came back with a butcher knife." He screwed up his face and squirmed uncomfortably on the couch. "He cut the guy's junk off."

This got him four sets of inhaled gasps and hands dropped over crotches defensively.

"Yeah," Nick agreed shakily. "Then he cut the guy's heart out. He was alive for all of it."

"Jeeez, you saw all this, Nick?" Archie asked. "You try and stop the guy or anything?"

"I… I couldn't. After I fell I was dazed and it was kinda like the whole scene just dropped on top of reality. Like I was frozen and everythin' was happenin' around me."

Warrick patted him on the back consolingly. "You know, you said you got thumped on the head again… you think this just coulda been--"

Nick stood up and planted his hands on his hips. "Why is it that you 'n' Jim can tell us about some ghost chick mackin' on you but I tell you what I saw and it's, Oh, poor Nicky, he must have brain damage?"

"A'ight, bro. Chill. I'm sorry. You're right. We've _all _seen some crazy ass shit tonight. Let's not forget what brought us all out here. Arch and Bobby saw two mysteriously disappearing bodies."

The two techs nodded solemnly.

Nick deflated and sat back down on the couch, rubbing once more at his head. " 's anyone got any aspirin?"

* * *

"So tell me again why we're goin' to the kitchen instead of stickin' with Warrick and the captain," Bobby said as he jogged along side of Archie and Bobby, holding his lantern aloft.

"Well, if the husband used a butcher knife to, uh, Lorena Bobbitt the guy, then he had to get the knife from-"

"-the kitchen," Bobby finished.

"Yup. I'm gonna see if we can find the knife the guy used. It's a stretch, I'll admit it, but it seems like every subsequent owner has bought the house with all its contents and never stuck around long enough to add their own or get rid of what was here. So maybe the knife is still here too."

"Between the gun and the knife, if we find it, we'll have forensic evidence of the crime. Man, I am gonna be SO in at the next meeting of the GHPSV. Jeremy can just kiss my ass with his, _ooh, I have a picture with a fuzzy white dot in it and it's a frickin' ghost_."

Nick chuckled and clapped the AV tech on the back. "Glad to hear you're havin' a good time. I'd just as soon be at home, on my couch, watching _anything_ but a horror movie. With an ice pack and a six pack."

He sighed as he pushed open yet another door. "Please let this be the kitchen."

The door swung open on a wide airy kitchen. A massive wood stove took up most of the back wall, and cast iron pots and pans, knit together with a network of spider webbing, hung from the ceiling on metal hooks. A double sink took up a second wall, flanked on both sides with glass-fronted cupboards and a marble countertop. On the counter sat a wooden block with a dozen wood handled knives seated in it, also covered by dust and cobwebs.

Nick walked over and pulled the largest handle free from the block, fingers plucking away the sticky spider silk. He held it up closer, the still shiny metal glinting in the beam of his Maglite.

Practiced fingers dug a small squirt bottle of phenolphthalein out of his vest pocket along with a cotton swab. He rubbed the tip of the swab into the area where the hilt met the blade, dripped some indicting solution on it, and watched as the cotton turned a familiar magenta color.

"Got it," he murmured to himself. He felt that becoming way too familiar sensation prickle its way up his spine as he saw his breath crystallize in front of him.


	5. Chapter 5

"So, you have any ideas what we're gonna do if we happen upon on a specter?"

Warrick bit his lip, not sure about the answer.

"I know a little Latin, maybe that'll fool 'em," Brass answered himself since there hadn't been a forthcoming reply.

"Only Latin I know is some plant taxonomy and the usual stuff. I could caveat emptor its ass. That'll have it runnin' in fear." Warrick shot Jim a look. "I'm not wearing a cross."

"That's only for vampires," Jim snorted as he shined his light behind them, just to be sure.

"Maybe Fred and Velma should be hunting this thing," Warrick grumbled.

"Their monster always ended up being someone in a sheet or alien suit." Jim stopped, head cocked at an odd angle.

"If we are after some dude getting his kicks outa beaning my partner on the head with something metal, I think he might accidentally run into this." Warrick raised his Maglite for emphasis.

"I don't want to be hearing about stuff like that, Rick. Besides, it's better if I didn't know about your plans if our suspect turns out to be flesh and bone." Jim turned to the other man, hand near his ear. "You hear that?"

Warrick almost bumped into him, brow crinkled as he too heard the softest notes of a piano…organ? He nodded his head, pulling out his gun for good measure, but the captain shook his head.

"Keep that thing down. No need to be shooting some kid or our missing uni by accident."

The two crept down the hall, tense and very aware of their murky surroundings. Every corner, every shadow was a place that a suspect could lay in wait. As they moved deeper into the bowels of the mansion, the music swelled from behind a set of carved double doors. Two beams bounced off of brass knobs and if the situation wasn't so dire both might have taken the time to discern the intricate decorative design chiseled into the oak.

Warrick's fingers itched over his Glock as the jazzy melody of some lost Depression era tune wafted from behind the door. The piano playing was faded, fuzzy with the tiniest skips in an otherwise soulful, luscious melody. The CSI crinkled his brow. "Sounds like some kind of record."

Jim had declared a warning, but felt as a cop the need to take out his automatic, safety on, and grabbed the door handle. He mouthed a _one...two...three._

Both men silently made their way inside, Warrick checking behind the doors they'd just gone through. Jim stayed out in front, eyes scanning their surroundings. It was a master bedroom with a hardwood floor covered by an impressive throw rug in the center. Their flashlights were not the sole source of light: the whole place glowed in the collective warmth of dozens of candles.

"You seein' what I'm seein'?" Jim asked in a hushed tone.

Warrick looked closer at the rug,, his eyes picking out a path of rose petals that began at the entrance and ran all the way to the bed. A trail of candles began on a far mirror-topped dresser and formed a semicircle around a king-sized bed with a faded canopy over it. The lacy hand -stitched covers were bathed in hundred of roses; the time and care taken to create such a mood was staggering..

"A romantic night perhaps?" Jim quirked as he examined the burning sticks of wax and smelled the fresh scents of oils and perfume emanating from them.

The bedroom was impressive with large wooden rafters criss-crossing the ceiling. Two small dust-covered chandeliers, hung above them: the dangling crystals, though soiled by time, would fetch a high price if restored at some auction. The music soared out a large gramophone that rested on an end table, the seeds of love drifting from the speaker nestled inside. The needle reading the acetate skipped every few seconds, as Warrick walked over to inspect it.

Jim joined him after making a sweep of the rest of the area; no bogeyman hiding out in the armoire, just racks of mothballed infested clothes.

"No one in a Scream mask and no Woman in White."

Warrick pulled the needle off the record, silencing the mood. "Why go through all the trouble set up for a night of Barry White? Why the show?"

"Dunno about you, Rick, but that recording didn't sound like the voice of the original velvet teddy bear."

Warrick just glowered at him as he waved his hand around at the Victoria's Secret atmosphere. "Is this some kind of clue?"

Jim opened his mouth when he felt the sensation of icicles forming on his spine, every hair over his body felt like it was standing on end, and his breath clouded over like a foggy night in London.

"You know what this means," Warrick said glancing around, his skin assaulted by the frigid drop in temperature as he tried to warm up by rubbing his hands over his arms.

"This isn't the time when we're supposed to say, 'Bloody Mary' three times in front of a mirror is it?"

Both men tensed when the room flickered like a low-watt strobe light and the candles wavered with a gust of swirling chilled air. Jim tapped the CSI's arm and pointed to the edge of the bed. "Your lady awaits," he whispered.

A shimmering light coalesced into the same woman who had vanished earlier only now she held onto a bouquet of the same roses that decorated her bedroom. She sobbed quietly, wiping at her face as she looked up at both men.

Warrick stared, stunned as he studied the entity. Her body was solid in some places and see through in others, but her beauty was unquestionable. "I couldn't find him," her voice warbled in her sorrow.

"Who?" he asked.

She shook her head, squeezing the flowers, bruising and breaking the blossoms. "All these years I've been waiting for him."

He glanced at Jim who just shrugged his shoulders. Warrick gave him a 'thanks for the help' look and tried again. "Maybe we can help."

She stood, her silky nightgown billowing around her petite form, the flowers slipping from her pale fingers. "No, you can't."

Her face grew determined as she brushed back more tears. "I won't let it happen again."

"If you tell us what's wrong we could---"

"I'm going to save him this time." Bloodshot eyes narrowed in conviction. "I can save him."

Warrick swallowed, "Ms---"

Then the apparition faded in and out like a bulb did just as it burned out. Before either man could get a word in edgewise, their ghost vanished.

"Either we're all trippin' on the same mushrooms, or we're really in some X-Files episode," Warrick grunted as he turned to his friend.

Jim holstered the gun he forgot was still in his hands. "Nah, we're in the middle of some lover's spat gone all Poltergeist on us."

"It's like in the movies. Ground Hog Day every anniversary. Repeating that fateful night over and over again until the chain's broken." Warrick couldn't believe his own ears as he theorized.

"And the 'he' the, um... spirit's referring to?" the Captain queried.

It was Warrick's turn to shake his head. "I dunno. Her missing lover? We haven't run into him yet."

Jim grabbed his shoulders, all kinds of gerbils running on the wheels of his mind. "But we have."

"Come again?" Warrick asked rubbing his eyes.

"I'll take one Nick Stokes, in the study, with a fireplace poker." The biting humor was there, but Jim's face meant business.

"For cryin' out loud, my boy has dead damsels in distress pining over him?"

"And homicidal husbands who need to complete what they started."

"Shit, we left him in the library where this whole thing began," Warrick cursed, feet already charging out of the room.

"As long as our murdering ghost doesn't get his hands on a knife, Nick should be safe." As soon as the words left the captain's lips, they double timed it, knowing the type of luck they were dealing with.

* * *

Nick's rapid breathing was weaving a silvery cloud around his head, adding to the mist that was already filling the area illuminated by Bobby' lantern.

Then that light went out. Nick dropped the knife on the counter as he grabbed up his Maglite, clicking the button furiously. No joy. The kitchen was blanketed darkness.

"Arch! Bobby!" Nick called out to companions he could no longer see.

"Yeah," he heard Archie's disembodied voice answer from close by.

No answer from the ballistics tech.

"Bobby? Dawson, where'd you go?" Nick shouted.

No answer.

A weird white light started glowing from within the center of the mist, growing closer with every heartbeat.

"Arch--" Nick reached out and grabbed for the AV tech's arm, fingers hooking into fabric and tugging the stunned man closer. "Arch, where's Bobby?" Nick whispered in his direction.

"I'm right here," a voice responded, the white glow intensifying as a figure stepped forward. The shimmer was coming from Bobby Dawson's body. And he was now holding the same butcher knife Nick had just processed.

"Bob--" Archie started, then stopped as he saw the face of his buddy, a man he'd been best buds with for the last ten years. The eyes were dead. Dead and cold as ice. Not the normal warm, laughing eyes of the gentle Georgian.

Nick whispered. "It's not Bobby."

"No. Not exactly, you're right. Although I assure you he is still here. IN here."

Nick's hand dropped to his hip as he unsnapped his holster and drew forth his service piece.

"Your firearm is quite remarkable. They have made much advancement since the war, I see. Still, a bullet is a bullet and it does the same damage to the _human _body that it always has. And it will do that harm to your friend if you use it. Go ahead. Shoot me, if you care to."

Nick's hand wavered in its aim at his friend's chest.

"I have temporarily…borrowed… your friend's body. We have unfinished business, you and I."

"The study. You're the husband."

"Roderick von Valkenberg. I am more than 'the husband'. I am descended from a line of German aristocracy that stretches back to the time of Charlemagne. But yes. I believe in the scenario of which you speak, I _am _the husband. And you are my betrayer. You have made me a cuckold."

"Now just wait a frickin' minute here, pal! I haven't done anything. I…" He turned to Archie and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "Am I seriously arguin' with a ghost?"

Not waiting for a reply Nick tucked his Glock back on his hip and held his hands out.

"Look, I don't know who you think I am, or what you think I've done, but all I want…all we want is to leave. _All _of us, including the guy whose body you've hijacked. We'll go and leave you to your haunting or whatever it is you do on non-dark 'n' stormy nights."

"Oh, but this night every year is dark and stormy. Just as it was eighty three years ago. When I found _him _laying roses out for my whore of a wife."

"And you killed him," Nick stated quietly. "Butchered him. And you killed her, too. Lily."

"Ah, yes. Lily. So familiarly her name trips off your tongue. She's taken a liking to you. She's quite mad, you know. The decades here have not gone easily on her."

He almost looked sad, _Bobby's _face falling, his eyes dipping to the floor.

"But, enough chatter. As I said before, we have unfinished business to tend to. You will accompany me to the library."

"And if I don't?" Nick asked, jaw jutting as his back steeled.

"I stay here in your friend's body. It's not bad. Still quite young. Of course, his screaming in my head will grow tiresome with time but…"

"Okay. But I want your word you will release Bobby."

"Of course. My quarrel is not with him."

"Your word…"

"I give you my solemn oath as a gentleman and a scholar that I will release your friend upon our return to the library. Once we arrive there, of course… how do they say it in Vegas? All bets are off."

Nick quirked an eyebrow at the expression from the turn of the century ghost.

"A goodly number of men have been here in the house since my … demise. I have little to do but to listen and learn. I grow tired of this. We leave. Now."

Nick nodded, turning to leave, then flinched as he felt a sharp pain in his back.

_Bobby_ held the point of the butcher knife to Nick's spine as he prodded him back up the stairs and down the hallway.

There was nothing in any of his training manuals, safety videos or self-defense classes that had a scenario remotely close to the one he was stuck in now. His vest protected him from the pressure of the very large blade the spirit used to keep goading him faster down the hall but eventually the weapon would cut through the flimsy protection. His fingers tightened around his Maglite, the heavy object his only defense if it came to a fight, and the only thing he would feel comfortable using. He would never try to injure Bobby, but maybe a small whack would stun or knock him out if he needed to.

They entered the library and the door swung shut with a loud bang behind him. Nick could hear Archie's voice and his hands pounding on the door to be let in.

"You gave your word, von Valkenberg," Nick growled as he turned to face his captor.

_Bobby_ gave a cold smile and nodded. Then his face went completely lax and Bobby crumpled to the floor.

A disembodied voice came from within the mist that began to fill the room. "Shall we begin?"


	6. Chapter 6

It had begun as fun and games and quickly turned to a nightmare that even Freddy Krueger would be envious of. Archie pinched his earlobe- HARD- more than once, hoping the stimulus would jolt him back to reality. One where people mocked his obsessions and most definitely the version where his best buddy wasn't holding a knife on one of his other friends. His little pathetic EMF meter didn't have a concealed ghost trap and he certainly hadn't memorized any demonic possession fixing spells.

He grit his teeth and gulped again as Bobby turned to eye him, his pupils dilated wide as saucers and an eerie blank look on his typically animated and genial face.

Nick had held his hands out in surrender, a battle of emotions waging war internally from the way seen in the way he glared back at the ghost. The Texan could be read like a book just from his eyes, and his entire being broadcast his anger over this impossible situation.

The spirit made no effort to wait for him to keep up on the stairs, and Archie stumbled frequently as he hurried on the heels of Nick and his nemesis. His lantern blinked off and on, sputtering with illumination only if he shook it enough. Bobby had a strong grip, fingers dug into Nick's bicep, forcing him forward with one hand, the butcher knife dug between Nick's shoulder blades with the other.

Archie tried to quiet his chattering teeth. He was shaking like a leaf from the chill in the air, and, of course, there was a homicidal spook holding his friends hostage. He thought about ripping the blade out of Bobby's hands, but didn't want to risk harming Nick. And even if he did manage to manhandle the other man using physical prowess he really didn't have, there was the whole spirit possession issue to deal with afterwards.

He was running out of ideas as they neared the study; the last he'd considered and discarded involved bashing poor Bobby over the head with the lantern, but that left a certain eight-inch butcher knife that could be a real sticking point. He grimaced at the pun and then mentally kicked himself for even letting his thoughts wander off at a point like this.

Stupid stress coping mechanism. It had been what got him through the trials and tribulations of childhood. Of course, while daydreaming didn't get him in trouble, it also meant being alone a lot. It was hard to make friends with your nose buried in every book imaginable. It also meant he failed to notice that they had arrived at the study.

If he was going to act, now was the time to do it, before the vengeful ghost tried to slice Nick into pieces. As Archie tried to catch up, waiting for an opening to knock out his possessed pal, the library door slammed shut in his face.

Panic raged through his veins with an adrenaline rush of epic portions.

"Hey!" He pounded on the thick aged oak, his hands aching after pummeling the door. "Heeeeeeelp!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, hopefully loud enough for Brass and Warrick to hear. And hopefully not too late.

* * *

Dimly aware of the sound of Archie's frantic pounding on the door, Nick whirled towards where he'd heard the voice emanate from.

Which left his flank exposed. A vicious punch landed on his kidney in the same place as twice before.

"Damn it," he hissed, knowing where the next one was going to land. "I know these dance moves."

This time he felt the bitter chill of fingers yanking on his shirt collar as a phantom fist slammed into his mid-section.

He was getting really tired of being some spook's punching bag, not even able to get a lick in. The last punch had left him feeling sick to his stomach and wobbly on his feet. He'd be seeing his dentist if he survived long enough and while he had anticipated the assault on his jaw, it still hurt like a bitch as he was walloped for the third freaking time in the face.

He was sent to all fours, in perfect position to get cracked in the skull again. He heard it coming and raised his arm to save his sore head from another blow, the bulk poker landing on his forearm with a bone clattering smash, but the tip still catching his head on the way down. He never made it back up, arms and legs giving out, his head spinning, and his heart still going a mile a minute.

The pattern complete, it was time for the deadlier aspect of the play and he wasn't about to become the final act. His service piece was useless against an invisible specter. Summoning strength he really didn't have he clambered to his feet, pulling himself up on the desk, the collective one sided sparring leaving him dizzy.

But, bruised and sore was better than butchered, and he fought the effects of his attack. He heard movement in front of him, his flashlight still flickering on the ground, the stupid thing fighting the electronic fluctuations in the room.

Then the angry spirit finally appeared to him in all of its glory and fury.

Von Valkenberg waged his never ending war in the same wool suit he wore eighty some years ago. His eyes burned with pure hate, his body shimmering in and out like a faulty hologram. The knife he wielded was very real, the metal glinting in the air as it arced down to stab him. Nick was slow, but not about to be made into mincemeat. He caught a wrist frailer than expected and, most importantly... solid.

The German looked shocked as he struggled to drive the blade into Nick's chest.

"A lot harder to kill someone when they're not out like a light, huh?" Nick growled, knowing that Lily's lover had never stood a chance before.

The aristocrat's hand trembled, the knife shaking with the battle to control it. The murderer had the advantage of being over the prone criminalist, but Nick had greater strength, even if weakened by fists and blunt objects.

"You must bleed and suffer," the spirit seethed.

Nick planted a knee into the other man's gut. He used his leg as leverage to shift the German, and more importantly, the blade away from him. The knife cut empty space as he rolled sideways, the older man unable to match the younger man's quicker reflexes. Von Valkenberg stumbled, but that didn't change the fact that one of them was still vulnerable on the floor.

The enraged husband regained his balance and sent a boot into Nick's side. As soon as the Texan changed focus to protect his ribs, the husband sprung again, using his knee to pin Nick's leg down as he aimed the knife _lower._

"You dared to violate my wife," he spat, trying to inflict grievous injury.

The older man used one hand to push down and trap Nick's shoulder, the sharpened steel poised to maim the younger man's lower region.

The fright of having his manhood sliced off made the grapple for the weapon boil. "You need serious counseling, man," Nick gasped as the sharp tip nearly nipped at his jeans.

Enough was enough. Nick sent an elbow right into the side of the German's head. "You like that?"

The husband was knocked down as Nick scrambled to rise to his feet and take a better strategic position. Again he was less than steady on his feet, the room spinning from the sudden shift in equilibrium and the effects of a probable concussion.

This time the man was just a rabid animal; the thirst for revenge, anger, fury -- all channeled his energy, making him a much more unpredictable foe. Nick ducked, dodged, and did near acrobatic feats to avoid every violent slice and jab. Seething like some wild dog, hell bent on spilling blood, von Valkenberg was pure frenzy. He advanced with no predictable course, and he tackled Nick with every fiber of his being. One body crashed into another at full force. Nick felt the blade sink into his upper arm, pain blossoming from ripped flesh, blood spilling from a fresh wound.

Nick groaned as the German growled in triumph and they both tumbled back to the floor. The spirit's hatred gave him an edge and it seemed the upper hand. Something inhuman screeched from deep within the murderous man's throat.

But it was a more shocking, and female voice that halted all the action.

A woman's form flickered in the room, long auburn hair, and a silvery aura. As she became more solid Nick could see her eyes; darker than even his own, sparks of fury literally visible as pinpricks of light.

"You cannot have him, Roderick! Not this time!"

The husband straightened, his hands tugging at his waistcoat as he steeled his back and stepped towards her.

"You cannot interfere in this, Lily. You know how this must end."

"NO!" A freezing cold wind whipped through the room, rustling the pages of the still open book Nick had looked at earlier, and knocking every light out instantly.

The room was plunged into utter blackness, the only things visible the fluorescent forms of the two former owners of the house.

The woman stepped forward, meeting her husband face to face, her face a portrait of fury.

"No, Roderick," she repeated slowly, coldly. "Not this time."

Nick watched, stunned, from the floor as von Valkenberg's hands clenched into fists at his side. Then, in a blink of an eye, the husband's hands shot out and wrapped themselves around his wife's neck. Long white fingers burrowed into the flesh of her throat as his wife struggled within his grasp.

"Yesssss, THIS TIME, Lily, and all the times after this!" the husband hissed from between clenched teeth. "You and your lover will pay for this for an eternity!"

Lily clawed at the fingers around her neck, her feet lifted from the ground kicking loosely.

"You betrayed me, Lily. And you musssssst paaaaaaay."

Nick rose to his hands and knees, the effort pulling on the stab wound in his shoulder, and he sucked in a breath but kept crawling. It was like moving through quicksand, every inch forward an eternity as Lily's struggles weakened.

The husband was too bent on wringing the life- UNLIFE? - out of his wife to notice Nick's approach and with the last bit of strength he had left Nick launched himself from the floor and threw his body at von Valkenberg.

While he was half expecting to fall right through, Nick's impact with the killer had both men sprawling on the floor, the breath knocked from the wounded Texan, leaving him gasping for air.

Von Valkenberg splayed out in a very undignified manner on the expensive rug, then whipped his head around to center on Nick.

"You little--!" The husband pulled himself slowly from the floor, brushing down his suit and straightening his tie. Nick could do nothing but stare wide-eyedly at the German as he began walking over, presumably to finish the job he'd begun.

"No, Roderick." It was Lily's voice. Deadly calm. "I told you. Not. This. Time."

Nick and the husband both turned to see Lily with the dueling pistol held in steady hands. She pulled the flintlock back with her thumb and an icy, triumphant smile curled up the corners of her red, red mouth.

**BANG!**

Von Valkenberg staggered back a step, hands clutched at his chest. Blood like liquid mercury came pouring from a small hole centered over his heart.

Lily continued to smile, gun in her hands, ghostly smoke rising from the end of the barrel.

Von Valkenberg slumped to the ground, twitched once, then stilled, lying in a growing puddle of quicksilver.

Nick stared at the once again lifeless body of his attacker, then started as he heard a metallic clatter. He turned to see that Lilly had dropped the gun and covered her face with her hands. Soft sobs floated over.

"Hey…hey…Lily?" Nick said tentatively. The sobs stopped and her hands fell from her face. Silvery tears stained her cheeks.

"All this time…and now … it's…"

"It's over, Lily," Nick affirmed. He pulled himself to his feet painfully, the only warmth in his body from where blood poured freely out of the wound in his shoulder.

He'd only managed a few shuffled steps towards her when he noticed she'd begun to flicker in and out.

"Lily…"

"Thank you." She closed the distance between them, the blinking getting worse as she raised a hand to his face. Cool, almost weightless fingers brushed his cheek. "You are so very like him. You have kind eyes like his."

The hand dropped and she smiled sadly. "Maybe now we can be together. The way it was meant to be. Farewell, and thank you again."

Her last words still hung in the air as she faded out completely.

Nick's Maglite flared into life and the pager on his hip began vibrating and chirping, while his cell phone began playing its normal jaunty tune.

A groan rose from the floor as the door to the library flung open and Jim, Archie, and Warrick all tumbled in, each of their lights at full power and their various phones and beepers making their own individual noises.

Nick fell to his knees next to Bobby who was coming around and was the source of the groan.

"What the hell…?" the Georgian drawled slowly, hand rubbing at his face. "Did I fall asleep? I had the weirdest dream …"

Nick smiled and offered his good hand to Bobby as the other men moved in to surround them.

Three separate voices all began demanding what had happened but Nick ignored them all to walk over to the couch and slump down tiredly.

Warrick dropped down next to him and looked him in the eye. "Nick, what the hell happened? Are you--? Is that blood? Jesus, Nick, what the hell happened to your shoulder?"

Bobby was meanwhile helped over to a chair where he sat blinking and shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.

A quick glance around the room confirmed that von Valkenberg's body had disappeared along with Lily's.

Nick coughed out a laugh. "You guys will never believe me."

"Why don'tcha try us, Nicky?" Jim asked. Seeing the younger man's pale face, bloody shoulder, and lingering shivers Jim held up a finger. "Belay that. If our equipment is up and runnin', maybe the cars are too. We need to get you two to a hospital to get checked out. You can tell us all about it after you get stitched up, Nicky."

The Texan nodded tiredly, allowing his partner to help him up from the couch.

The group gathered up their equipment, Archie snatching up the pistol and knife, and made their weary way back to the foyer.

Where they met Condannato.

"What the fuck? Tony, where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you on the radio!"

"Sorry, Cap'n," the uni said with a shrug. "You sent me to find candles." He held out a hand that held several sticks of wax and more bulged from his pockets. "I… uh. It's a big house. And it's dark. I… I got lost."

Jim sighed tiredly. "C'mon. These cars had better frickin' work."

When they got outside the rain had stopped and the stars were bright against a deep black velvet sky.

The cars all fired up as expected and the group peeled off, spitting gravel in their haste to get away from the house.

* * *

_Oh, my word, that was SUCH good fun! _She laughed gleefully, head tossed back.

_My dear, you were especially magnificent tonight. Your performance was brilliant! _

_Well, you weren't too shabby either, my love. Loved your little impromptu strangulation attempt. It was truly inspired!_

_Well, he went off program, love. He did put up quite the fight. More than any of the others. He bettered my performance. I had to step it up a notch, as they say. _

_Yes, he was a nice change wasn't he_, she mused, painted fingernail rubbing softly on her lips.

_You really did take a liking to him, didn't you?_

_Oh, Roderick. I must admit to a certain… feeling when I first saw him. But it's only because he reminded me of you when you were his age, sweetheart. _

_I must admit to a certain rough resemblance, _he grumped, running his hands over his eternally soft belly. _My physique was, of course, a bit trimmer than his. He was rather… bulky._

_Mmmm… Yes_, she purred. She entered her husband's open arms and he folded her in his embrace.

Her hand rose to stroke his cheek adoringly, then played with the bristly mustache.

_Wonder what he would have looked like with one of these? _she teased.

He slapped her hand away playfully, then bent to kiss her mouth deeply, lingering. As they finally drew apart he cocked his head.

_You know, this group was cannier than the others. They may actually find the bones in the pond._

Lily's mouth curled in a smile, like ice cracking on a thawing stream. _Well, won't we have fun replacing them?_

_-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

The END ?


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